Standing on your own
by TheQueenofShadows88
Summary: Pre-Pilot, Pilot Slightly AU, Story from Sam's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Standing on**** your own**

**DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN! JUST PLAY!**

**Chapter 1 – A night out celebrating –**

It had been exactly two years, three months, nine days and eight hours since he had walked out of a crappy, rundown motel room in Bakersfield, California, leaving behind the hunt, John Winchester and his heart, never looking back once.

Now, gazing through the kitchen window of their house on Stanford Campus, admiring the view of a beautiful sunrise he wondered, if he could ever face eventually having to go back.

Had somebody asked Sam five months ago, whether he ever missed his old life or the people that had shared it with him the answer would have been: "HELL NO!" His mind would have automatically added: "Save one."

This instant however he desperately wished to be able to crawl between his brothers arms, hide his face in one of those hard muscled shoulders and hear the words "It's goanna be alright, Sammy, I'll take care of you."

Five months apparently made all the difference in the world.

Remembering the day, that had ripped his new world apart, tore him to shreds and changed everything forever, still hurt worse than… 'No, not going to let that afternoon resurface!' Sammy thought.

May 2nd 2005.

A date he would never forget, never wanted to be reminded of and sure as hell wished had never happened.

His 22nd birthday. Jess and he had been out with some friends celebrating. It was an honest to god party, with cake, candles, silly paper-hats, a lot of confetti and cheap role-up horns.

Silent tears slid down his cheeks as his head supplied images of laughing, drinking people all crowding in and around him to congratulate and shout profanities. For a few blessed hours Sam Winchester the hunter, trained since he could run on his own without falling on his face – repeatedly – was truly gone. Replaced by Sam Winchester, now 22 year-old college boy, who laughed, cussed and cursed along their sides. Not worrying about anything else but how he was going to propose to his long-term girlfriend of almost four years…

Jessica Moore, his personal candle in the dark. At 5.4 ft., soft, heart-shaped face with glowing deep blue eyes, surrounded by a waterfall of wavy blond hair, lips more sinful than a multi-layered chocolate cake and all curves at the right places she made his knees go weak, his mind spin and allowed his soul to soar high.

Until that fateful night. At exactly 2:03 am he had woken with a blinding headache and the taste of his own bile in his mouth, left there by the nightmare.

She had been glued to the ceiling, her abdomen ripped to shreds, face twisted in pain and fear.

Sam struggled with his brain, that scene seemed so familiar, like he had seen it happen before, he just couldn't…

As soon as the thought crept into his consciousness he was pulled under.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Visiting the nursery –**

Falling, the first sensation his mind supplied; utter darkness as if being blind, only with open eyes. There was no up or down, neither left nor right; goose bumps on his skin even though he felt like burning up inside; Voices, loud, ugly, screaming although nobody was there. His own voice never being heard, muteness forced upon him.

And all of a sudden…

He stood on solid ground. A soft, beige carpet under his feet and a picture of a motorcycle on the wall, were the first things he noticed until the wooden baby crib jumped into his eyes. It stood next to the changing table, almost right under the window, which was framed by white curtains that displayed blue ships. The baby mobile turned slowly playing a soft lullaby.

Obviously a nursery but still completely foreign to him, he had never been here of that he was sure, with no clue to where "here" was, until a blond woman carried in a small four-year-old. Mary with Dean in her arms.

Not simply a nursery, but **his** nursery. Dumbfounded did not even begin to describe how he felt, standing in his own nursery at the age of 22.

Sam looked his fill. Never having seen his mother before made the experience not only unreal, but also strangely cherished. She did not stand tall, about 6''2, her blond straight hair shone even in the dim evening light and the smile and love in her eyes said everything Sam needed to know from her. Mary had loved him.

Slowly walking forward, Sam expected the boy to start screaming at the stranger in front of him but his young, older brother was completely obvious.

" How…?" Laying his hand on one small shoulder of the child and still not getting a reaction he guessed he was not really with them. Just seeing a memory of past happenings, but whose memory was it?

Being completely focused on watching his 'older' sibling and his mother he did not notice John coming in.

"Hey Dean, came to say good night to Sammy?" "Yeah Daddy." Recognizing the speaker instantly Sam spun around and put himself firmly between John Winchester and the man's wife and son. "Come on, let's get you to bed, champ." John picked the little guy up, reaching right through a 22-year-old version of the baby in his crib, who made gurgling sounds of joy at the occupants of his room. Sam sneaked a glance at his infant-self and spontaneously shuddered seeing the eyes, which were firmly trained on him, as if this toddler could actually 'see' him. Maybe, maybe he could.

Then the scene shifted.

He could hear his mother on the stairs and watched helplessly as the demon appeared in his room shortly after. Sam glanced at the clock on the wall. 2:03 am, he would be exactly six months old in two minutes.

- 3 -

Mary entered her youngest sons nursery, said "John, come back to bed." and walked back out again, going down into the living room this time, where she would find John asleep in his favorite armchair, no doubt – Sam knew, 'cause Dean had told him, when he was ten and dad had shown an ugly outburst of fury and fear after falling asleep in a motel-chair.

All the while the demon had slashed a shallow wound on his own arm and dropped a few of the cursed blood-drops into Baby-Sammy's mouth and there was nothing he could do against it.

Mary was back now, screaming at this abnormity with the yellow eyes to get away from her son but it was already too late – for her and him - The baby's eyes, his eyes, had just turned black, before returning to their usual hazel-brown, seconds later.

Watching his mother being thrown against a wall and slid up to the ceiling, where she stuck was single handedly the worst thing Sam had ever been forced to see.

It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't alone with his emotions. He could literally feel Mary's rage and protectiveness inside him as well as Yellow-Eyes zeal and anticipation. "My general. You'll make me proud, Sammy." The demon whispered while stroking the baby's cheek, almost lovingly – if demons could love, that was.

Those painful screams, his mother gave of from being gutted alive, woke John up. As he sprinted into the second floor all he could do was watch his beloved wife die. Dean entered almost simultaneously, eyes first flicking to his mommy and then immediately jumping to Sammy in his crib. As Yellow-Eyes vanished, two grown up men and a small, scared four-year-old boy witnessed Mary Winchester burn.

Fast Ex-Marine reflexes had John snatch his baby out of its crib, thrust him into his big brothers arms and say: "Take Sammy outside! Run!" But Dean, always obedient Dean, just stood there, eyes overflowing with tears, small body wracked with sobs. "RUN!" Their father snapped. His prospective protector snapped into motion, scrambling through the door, down the stairs and onto the lawn outside. He turned back at hearing a loud blast, anxiously searching for his dad, who was nowhere in sight.

Raging with fury, Sam – the older version – stood next to the small hunter in the making, who had been born tonight and was holding onto the precious bundle tightly, watching John Winchester finally run across the front lawn and snatching his sons up in his arms in midstride.

He felt that small part of Dean, which allowed him to show emotions die in that moment, more than he saw it leave his eyes.

It was the last thing Sam noted before waking up in his own bed, drenched in sweat and panting – next to his Jess –.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Spoken Thoughts & Black Eyes –**

This time the bile didn't just rise, Sam had to dart into the bathroom, where he got rid of his dinner along with anything remotely related to food and drinks. Dry heaving, he had the toilet seat in a vice tight grip, struggling to keep himself from losing consciousness and falling over, into his own puke.

"Sam?" The tentative voice of his girlfriend made Sam focus. "Baby? Are you alright?" Wiping his own barf from his mouth he hoarsely said: "Don't come to close, Jess. I probably caught something while being out. Don't want you to get sick too." "Oh… poor darling." Her voice rang with heartfelt sympathy. Sam forced himself to speak again. "Go back to bed, sweetie. I'm goanna take the spare room. "Sure thing." And with that she was gone.

Walking into their guestroom, Sam flopped down on the bed and cried his heart out. The hunter in him ensured it was done in silence. After his eyes had temporarily dried out, questions came flooding in. 'Why tonight?' 'Why didn't they tell me?' and 'is that why John…?" The first could probably never be answered completely. The others were easier. Dean most likely didn't see in the first place and his father, his father had a plot of his own and to the third… maybe it was his punishment?"

All of a sudden a horrifying idea stole its way into his mind. 'What if the blood from Yellow-Eyes – "Azael" his psyche automatically supplied – was the reason?" "Maybe it had done something to him? Or worse turned him into…" Quick as an arrow Sam dashed in front of a mirror and observed his eyes. Still hazel brown. Letting out a huge sigh of relief he bowed his head. Until he heard Jess voice. 'But she's two rooms away! The walls are **not **that thin!' Sammy listened closely: 'Wonder what's wrong with him tonight? No way he's got the flue and it ain't food poisoning either, we ate the same things.' – Exactly why he hadn't used this particular excuse. – 'Hopefully things will be back to normal tomorrow.'

By this point Sam was way beyond reason and 'calm monologues'. HE COULD HEAR THOUGHTS AND his eyes were PITCH-BLACK. They were eyes of a demon.

His mother's dead, bloodied face flashed before him and his jaw clenched tight enough to make his teeth gnash.

He would **not** let that bastard win! Only there was nothing to be done about it tonight. 'Sleep.' He thought. At least tonight. Tomorrow there would be a whole lot of research to do.

He was out before his head hit the pillow, fast asleep, and this time no dreams tormented him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Timeframe of a vision –**

The next morning…

Waking up Sam felt disorientated for a second before the events from last night returned.

Momentarily flooded with grief he got out of bed slowly and went through his morning routine on autopilot.

In the Kitchen Jess handed him a cup of coffee, which was drowned immediately, before he roughed up to apologize. Wrapping her in a bear hug – he had no idea how long he had left with her – he started speaking: "I'm sorry about last night, I've no idea what came over me."

Her response was less warm than he hoped but more so than he could ever have asked for. "It's alright, Sam. Don't worry about it, big guy." "Thanks." "I have to go, class starts in thirty minutes. Reluctantly he let her go.

As soon as the front door clicked shut behind her Sam booted up his laptop and started researching Azael and demons in general – Sam Winchester, deadly hunter, enemy of all things supernatural was back – and perhaps, this time it would be permanent.

After four hours and six mugs of coffee his research had turned up… close to nothing. So he started fresh. This time seeking information on psychic powers he was rewarded with a bunch of adds for seers – most were certainly frauds – and a Wikipedia entry, which not only listed them, but also gave a detailed explanation of 'one way' they could manifest. Sam read up on premonitions, telekinesis, pyro kinesis, etc. Even mindreading was being mentioned though the definition was crappy and didn't fit Sam's 'experience' at all.

Jess' returned at six pm sharp and was greeted by a beautifully done table complete with candles, roses and dinner. – Tonight should be the night. - Sam had decided. He would ask her to marry him, even though they might not have those 50 years he wanted to spend with her.

Of course she'd said "yes".

When Sam had the nightmare of her falling prey to Yellow-Eyes that night, waking with a start right after, it was the first time he considered it to be a vision. One night later he was sure of it.

Sam was in a fully blown panic by Friday but didn't even let himself think of calling Dean or Bobby – a friend of his father – much less John in person. He would deal with this on his own in the best way he could and that meant…

- 6 -

Practicing.

He started with the visions. Except, not knowing what to do forced him to watch his girlfriend die again. Understanding afterwards, that proceeding was only possible if he got rid of his fear first. So instead of forcing himself to stay awake in order to escape them he tried to relax and wait. Jess was, unknowingly, a great help with the getting laid back part. Her libido was constantly on overdrive. After four to five rounds each night not even the seasoned hunter in him could stay on full alert.

That first time this particular vision came, while he was still awake, Sam's body tensed bow tight and he received the mother of all headaches for his efforts. Close to two weeks later and popping ibuprofen like they were peanut M&M's there was one sole conclusion: Hunter instincts fought against lover instincts and therefore these demonic powers. Once resistance shifted to acceptance, they became painless and details sprung into focus. A TV-guide opened for October 30th, lying on the living room table. Their DVD recorder was displaying half visible digits, which could be read, as 10:30 pm if one was familiar with the device. Weariness from a long road trip had crept in, like he'd driven hundreds of miles back to her, too far away to protect, to prevent what was in store for her.

A clear timeframe and seemingly no way of saving his prospective fiancé.

'He wouldn't even be allowed to marry his beautiful Jess, let alone share a lifetime.' Fat Tears started spilling, obscuring his vision and for just a second he wanted to die with her.

Then fury and resentment took over, completely with stone cold hatred which slid easily into determined callousness. It would not happen! Not leaving was the next step. Nobody held a more important place in his heart than Jess, thus no one could persuade him to go out.

Simple truth. Easy Solution. (If only.)

Briefly considering trying to force this power he decided against it. These abilities weren't meant to be explored to deeply, lest they got out of hand.

If he hadn't been raised a hunter from his 5th birthday onward he couldn't have gone even this far and sure as hell would have decided against developing his empathic and mindreading skills. But Samuel Winchester had been forced to destroy supernatural monsters since the 2nd May 1988, when his father had him run that eternally cursed, first mile.

So here he was, sitting on their worn out, old brown couch, his arm slung around Jessica's waist, her head on his shoulder. Those wheels, of his treacherous mind, which had secured him a full ride into Stanford, turning faster than a roller coaster, rushed through a loop.

He had a lot of work to do.

Fin –


End file.
